


Isolated in a Crowd

by atlas_white



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Post-Triumphant Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 12:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18135980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlas_white/pseuds/atlas_white
Summary: Wilson realizes that he's made a terrible mistake in bringing other Survivors. He looks to Maxwell for guidance in coping with the consequences.





	Isolated in a Crowd

**Author's Note:**

> This is a narrative in which Wilson brought many of the Survivors, as opposed to them being summoned unintentionally via the Floral Postern, or directly by Maxwell. 
> 
> The prompt was "Undeserved Reputation" and was requested by BrownPelican73.

  
Wilson was a loner at the best of times.

He was the sort of man who would make himself a cabin out in the solitary woods to keep from being bothered in his scientific pursuits, to create a place where no one could ever intrude upon the solitude that he required for concentration, and, after a fashion, contentment. He defined himself by science, prided himself in it, and to have any sort of distraction put both his mood and his state of mind immediately afoul.

Moreover, he had a history of discomfort with social situations. This was the part he kept to himself (as he tried to keep most things, if he was at all honest). Parties and grand balls had taken a toll on his psyche, and with so much nagging from his elder brother and repeated attempts to match him with some banker's daughter or another, they had left him raw and weary of socializing.

Perhaps he was simply never suited for it, _odd_ as he'd always been. That was the word his family would use, odd. He didn't act the way he was meant to. He was erratic, far too prone to obsessive behavior and fantastic ideas. He was the sort of man who did not concern himself with dignified pursuits, although he was not bad at playing the piano, and quite good at equestrian sports. He never was able to smoke properly, or to hold a gun, but his heart was never in it anyway.

The hellish Constant had that much to offer him: in return for his freedom, it gave him the quiet and solitude to concentrate. (He hadn't been _entirely_ alone, but he hadn’t felt crowded by that other man, who had never mocked him.)

Of course, _Wilson_ had been the one to ruin all that for himself. He didn't even have the dignity of being only indirectly responsible. It was unknowingly that he had pulled the spider child from the cold, damp earth, and broken the curse that had bound the others he hadn't even been aware were trapped in the Constant with him, but they weren't the only ones who were here now.

He had taken the Throne. He had become King, even so briefly. They had shown him all the horrors and delights Maxwell told him They would, and he had loved Them, and he had been open to whatever They wanted him to do; because he was so lonesome, and because he _had_ been so unfairly treated by his family, that even knowing beforehand how They would corrupt him did not stop it from happening. He had wanted to lash out, and hurt the people who would not let him follow his scientific pursuits. He had wanted to hurt them the way he'd been hurt, and far, far worse.

So he'd brought people here, to the Constant, just as Maxwell had before him. Even more Survivors to play Their twisted game, only that there were more of them, a whole batch of people brought at once, and Wilson had been sure that he would be able to dispatch them quickly without even bending the rules.

He'd been wrong, of course. He had been taken off of the Throne and now he lived among those people that he and Maxwell had brought to the Constant against everyone's will but Theirs.

He knew that they didn’t trust him. There was unrest, there was unease. His own twin was among them, and she was ready to set his hair on fire at the least provocation, he was sure of it. Wilson’s pride couldn’t blind him to the repercussions he’d brought on his head, no matter how much a loner he was.

There was, of course, only one among them who could know what he was going through. That was the one person who was experiencing much of the same, only that he had no one he had rescued, no stalwart supporters. He had only his charisma to fall back on, his knowledge of the Constant and its workings making him valuable enough to the camp that even those he'd lured here himself couldn't think of throwing him out to the mercy of the Darkness and what lurked in the cruel woods.

It was he Wilson went to seeking comfort. The scientist would have told himself that he only needed a little bit of advice, some words of guidance on how to deal with the pointed looks and occasional sleights when the Survivors he'd brought took their turns handling food. Yet, he knew that there was more reason than that for him to seek out Maxwell. He could give himself a thousand reasons, but his ulterior motives would always be the only ones that mattered, and he’d never be able to truly ignore them.

Night had already fallen, and he crept as stealthily as he could across to Maxwell's tent. He had only to whisper the other man's name to be allowed in; it reminded him of when Maxwell had been King, and his name would cause him to appear. Now it was a request for invitation, no guarantee that it would be heard. It was a name, and not an incantation, and to Wilson it signified the man in whom he found solace and strength.

"Wilson? Come in," came Maxwell's hushed voice, and Wilson quickly obeyed, slipping inside and kneeling on the ground before the tent flap was completely closed again behind him.

He felt as though he could breathe a little easier, once he was in Maxwell's tent; the inside was warm from having an occupant, and the air smelled strongly of him. There was no fear here of the eyes and judgements of others. There was no one who could cast aspersions on him for being cruel or odd.

He didn't question how Maxwell could make him feel so safe when companionship always felt so uncomfortable to him. He understood that there was a bond between them, and that was enough; it was all he needed to understand. It was like the bond between chemicals, which makes them inseparable and reforms them into something new. Wilson and Maxwell had been through so much together that it was as if they spoke their own language, incomprehensible by their fellow Survivors. They were the ones who knew what it meant to be ensnared by Them. They were the ones who had gone through Hell for each other, and would do it again only gladly.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Wilson told Maxwell, unnecessarily. It was evident that Maxwell hadn’t been asleep, either, but Wilson wasn’t going to address it if the ex-King didn’t.

“So you thought you’d come into my tent and whittle away the hours?” Maxwell asked coyly. “Why, Wilson, I’d be pleased to entertain you.” He closed the space between them to put his arm around Wilson and pull him against himself.

Wilson inhaled slowly, pressing his forehead against Maxwell’s chest to avoid letting either of them acknowledge the way his face reddened. Really, as if Maxwell had never touched him before! It was embarrassing.

He had to extract himself to respond with a question, “Do you feel isolated, with this group?”

Maxwell tilted his head. There was something very serious to the burning gold of his eyes, as if this was a question with an unutterable answer, something too ugly or too upsetting to name. He scratched his chin with his free hand before, at length, he gave Wilson an answer.

“Honestly, Wilson, I’ve felt isolated for a very, very long time. If they dislike me, I hardly blame them. But I don’t feel that I’m worse off now than I was before. Quite the contrary.” He ran his hand through the scientist’s willful hair. “Why, do you?”

Wilson sighed and idly ran his thumb over the hem of Maxwell’s pants. “I confess I do... the others don’t seem to care much for me. How do you do it? I was on the Throne for such a brief time, yet I feel as if I spent centuries on it. I don’t blame these people for disliking me, either. Oh, I don’t the way it feels at all; I value my solitude so much, why should I even care?”

Maxwell continued to idly stroke that extravagantly coiffed hair while he mulled this over. “Perhaps it’s because these people _are_ here now; you can’t avoid them, and it makes you feel guilty.”

“Do you ever feel that way?” Wilson couldn’t help but to ask, meeting Maxwell’s eyes imploringly.

The former King of Shadows nodded, which made something stir in Wilson unexpectedly even before words came to follow. “I must admit, there are times when I wish I could do something to reverse all this. It’s useless thinking, of course. There’s nothing any of us could do, least of all _me_. My power came from _Them_ , after all. But there’s nothing wrong with… feeling guilty, I think.”

“No, I suppose it does show a certain humanity,” Wilson agreed thoughtfully. “It’s certainly pleasant to hear coming from you. But… I don’t know. I’ve done things that I regret most dearly. Not coming here, though, no… but other things.”

Now it was Maxwell’s turn to be surprised, the hand in Wilson’s hair coming to a halt as the older man pulled back and looked at him, almost _scrutinizing_.

“You don’t regret coming here?”

Wilson shook his head. “Of course not. Despite this trouble of mine, despite all the things that are terrible about this place, I could never regret having met you.”

Maxwell gave a low huff of a chuckle and moved his hand down to stroke Wilson’s jaw gently, his clawed fingers coming to rest on the scientist’s chin with a light tap. “You know, that’s what makes you so extraordinary. You really care; about me, about the others… you may play the part of the lone scientist well but you, oh you’re so much more than that.”

“You flatter me, Maxwell,” Wilson replied, “But I have a bitter heart. The only thing that sweetens it is my love for you.”

“You should have been a poet,” Maxwell answered, punctuated by a brief kiss. “Really. You are the one who flatters me― you _honour_ me with your words, and with your deeds. I’m unworthy of them, ask anyone.”

“There is no one who could tell me that, for no one knows you like I do,” Wilson countered, pressing against Maxwell. Honestly, it was ridiculous to think that a group of near strangers could tell Wilson _anything_ about the magician. There was no one alive who knew the every nuance of him the way that he did.

Maxwell evidently had no argument for this (rightfully, Wilson thought), and so instead he settled for kissing the scientist a second time with a thoughtful hum, before sinking back down into the bedding and bringing Wilson down with him.

The scientist went along with this easily, giving no protest. He let the impressive clawed hands of his magician begin to roam across his slim body, and responded in kind, savoring every touch. A loner, perhaps, but there was still room for one other, still the need at times to touch and know that company.

“So, would you let me _entertain_ you after all?” Maxwell purred suggestively.

Wilson clicked his tongue and brushed his fingertips along Maxwell’s ribs before replying, “I suppose I may allow it. Tell me first, though; how can I put into practice these ideas you have about me― that I care about others? Is it the solution to my problem?”

“Simply show them that kindness of yours, and they will soon see what I do,” Maxwell answered, unfastening the buttons on Wilson’s shirt. “This selflessness, this giving heart.” He put his hand over Wilson’s heart, where he could just feel the vibrations of it beating in the scientist’s chest. It brought to mind the life inside the younger man, who had, against all odds, not allowed the Constant to tear it out of him. “Mind that this heart belongs to me, of course. But you know what I mean.”

Wilson chuckled softly, his cheeks once again growing red. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

Maxwell grinned wickedly and kissed Wilson’s chest over the heart which belonged to him, and Wilson did not contest his ownership.

The scientist would be able to put his trusted companion's advice into practice later, and to work to gain the trust of those whom he had hurt, but for now, he would put aside all of that pain and lose himself in Maxwell, just for a little while.

 

 

 

 


End file.
